


Washed Clean

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Smuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-12-24 08:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: Sometimes, the Savior needs a bath. Sometimes, the pirate needs a shower. And sometimes, they're both being silly and sweet and then the inevitable happens. But first, they need a bath.





	1. Chapter 1

Defeating the monster of the week had been relatively easy, once they finally caught up with it. But a long day of chasing after it through the forest had left Emma bruised, dusty, and visibly drained. Killian wasn't much better, with grit in his hair from taking a fall and sweat-soaked everything clinging to his skin. It took less convincing than he thought it would to get her to poof them home, right into the bathroom. 

He immediately set about drawing up a bath in their old-fashioned claw foot tub, adding the lavender-scented bubble bath she loved, as she began undressing while leaning against the counter. Ever the gentleman, he helped her out of her mud-splattered jacket and hung it on the hook on the door to be cleaned later. 

When he turned back around, her eyes were closed and her jeans and underwear were pooled at her feet, but he could see that the tenseness she'd carried home was dissipating in the way her chin met her chest and her mouth was quirked up just enough to form a shallow dimple. 

He kissed the indent, pulling her from her moment of peace, but she didn't seem to mind. He settled his hand and hook on her waist and beckoned, "Come, love; let's get you in the water." In one motion, he'd pulled both her tank top and bra up over head, tossed them aside, and then offered his hand to her. With a shy smile, she took it, stepped out of the garments around her ankles, and let Killian escort her into the bath. 

The involuntary sigh that she released upon settling in the tub and leaning her head back made him grin; they were both still getting used to these quiet, domestic moments of utter bliss, and he vowed not to take a single one for granted. 

He went about following suit, easing out of his own dirty jacket and undoing the buttons of his vest and shirt. He'd just slipped off both garments and let them fall to the tile when he glanced at the tub—and couldn't see Emma. 

"Swan? Love? Where are you?" He couldn't help the edge of panic that snuck into his voice; old habits died hard, after all. The bath was covered in suds and steam was filling the room, but not enough to obscure his vision.

Alarmed, he headed for the door, but had hardly taken two steps when his side was suddenly drenched in warm water, followed by a youthful giggle he’d never tire of hearing.

Laughter crinkled the corners of Emma’s eyes—pretty much all he could see over the foam of the bath where it was quite apparent she’d been hiding a moment ago, judging by the suds on top of her head and the tip of her nose.   
  
“That’s bad form, Swan,” he mockingly admonished, unable to hide his own grin at seeing her so carefree and relaxed. He stepped forward and swiped the soap off her nose with a finger before blowing it back at her. “You know I’m liable to have a heart attack at this age.”

“Then get in the tub, old man, before I’m as wrinkled as you should be.”

Not another moment was wasted as he slipped off his boots and jeans (he hadn’t bothered with those weird boxer brief things today), quickly undid the straps of his brace, and let it fall to the floor as he took his place in the opposite end of the bath. He too couldn’t help the automatic groan as the hot water soothed his aching muscles; once he was seated, he let his eyes close and head fall back on the curved edge of the tub, and just reveled in the comforting caress of the wet heat around him (not the first time that phrase had passed through his mind, but usually, that had to do with other far less innocent activities).

“Feels good, huh?” Emma pondered, drawing her toes along his leg underwater.

“Mmm, amazing,” he muttered back, hardly able to form words.

Once again, he was unexpectedly drenched; his eyes flew open to see Emma struggling to hold in her delight, leg still raised above the water’s surface after she’d evidently kicked that water at him. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Did we not just have this conversation?”

“Maybe.” She splashed at him again. 

“You're going to get water all over the floor and then you'll complain to me when you fall,” he tried to scold, but his heart wasn't in it. 

She just raised her eyebrows in answer, challenging him to do something about it. 

Of course, there wasn't a bloody thing he could do. Not when she was so relaxed and playful, or when she was letting him take care of her. Far be it for him to deny her—or himself, really—these simple moments of effortless joy that had been too long coming in their lives.  

* * *

Either the bath really was that rejuvenating, or Emma was overtired to the point of being slaphappy. Regardless, she was glad Killian had talked her into this, if only to see the way he was trying (and failing) to be annoyed with her silliness. She never imagined having someone like this in her life: patient enough to deal with her at her best and at her worst, because she knew neither was easy to handle—let alone that she'd be able to call that person her husband. 

Her husband who currently had a brow arched at her in attempt at admonishment, but she could easily see the smirk he couldn't hold back cutting a dimple into his scruffy cheek. 

And then it melted into something else: his face relaxed and a soft smile formed on his perfect lips. It was a look she knew was reserved for her, in those moments he was completely, incandescently happy, and she was immeasurably grateful that she got to see it more and more.

Cautiously, obviously being careful to not cause waves lest he become guilty of what he’d just scolded her for doing, he drew up his legs and shifted his weight forward to kneel, then slid his forearms along the lip of the tub until he hovered over her. Firmly, he pressed a kiss against her lips. It wasn’t exactly chaste, but was only really heated in the insistent way it told her  _ I love you _ without words. He lingered on her lips and started again, and she was just about ready to give in to more, placing her hands on his shoulders to pull him in tight, when something else came over her.

And she dunked his head in the tub instead.

Seconds later, he came up, sputtering, and quickly brushed his hair from his eyes to (try to) glare at her. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

She shrugged. “You weren’t wet yet.” Then, grinning, added, “And you were dirty.”

He resumed his spot leaning over her. “Oh, I was, was I?” His voice lowered seductively and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Am I still?”

Humming, she mused over her response. She could very easily let this head elsewhere; she did so love to watch him fall apart. But the bath felt so good—and there were other ways for her to make him come undone.

She reached to the shelf at the side of the tub and grabbed Killian’s shampoo. “Yeah, you are,” she answered, and placed her other hand on the back of his neck, gently tugging him forward. “Come here.”

There was something youthful about the way she made him crouch in the tub—bent over and almost completely submerged, save for his back and head—and as much as she was still getting used to someone taking care of her, she knew the same was true for him and leapt at the opportunity to return the favor. She poured a good-sized dollop of shampoo in her palm, replaced the bottle on the shelf, and rubbed her hands together both in glee and to get a lather going.

It had to be magic, the way his hair was always so soft; even with the day’s sweat and various forest debris in it, even wet, it was silky against her fingers as she set to work massaging his scalp. The foamy white bubbles were a stark contrast to his raven locks, save for those odd light-colored ones she refused to tell him about.

And the sounds he was making—oh, lord. It was like her hands were much farther south, the way he was groaning and sighing. He’d practically collapsed against her chest, forehead to sternum; though she couldn’t see his face, she knew the wrecked look he was wearing (and, if she had her way, he’d be wearing it again later).

As she was finishing up the short hairs at the nape of his neck, she jumped at the feeling of vibration between her breasts. Like a kid blowing bubbles in his milk, there was Killian, doing the same in the bathwater in the valley of her bosom. She was frozen in shock at first—he’d never done anything like that before, not even in bed; it seemed like her silliness was wearing off on him.

So she kept with the theme and shoved his head underwater again.

This time when he rose back up, he shook his head like a dog before looking up and revealing a shit-eating grin.

“What was that?” she asked in faux indignation (as much as she could muster when he was looking so proud).

“Isn’t that what they call ‘motorboating’ nowadays?”

“Oh my god.” She hid her face in her palms.

“It is, isn’t it?” His voice took an edge of doubt, like it always did when he wasn’t sure if he was using slang correctly.

She looked back up to see his face had fallen a bit, and gave a reassuring smile. “It’s close enough.” And, winking, added, “I think I like your version better, anyway.”

He blushed a bit at that, with a tiny grin that made her heart flutter, but then scooted forward. “Now, Swan, I believe it’s my turn.” He reached behind her head and deftly dug a finger under the edge of her hair elastic, tugging it down as gently as he could to free her wet tresses. Then he grabbed the same bottle of shampoo, popped the cap, and drizzled it over her head; it was an odd, slimy, cool sensation, but not unpleasant.

After putting the bottle away, he tugged her toward him and moved so that he was straddling her thighs, then set to work on washing her hair.

The man had magic fingers, she swore; his long, graceful digits seemed to find her entire scalp all at once and before she knew it, she was melting against him, leaning against his left shoulder. A serene sigh escaped her lips and she felt a low chuckle vibrate across his chest as he continued to work.

She continued to come undone by his talented hand as her own unconsciously drifted to its favorite spot above his heart, drawing nonsense patterns in the thick hair plastered to his warm chest. She nestled further into the crook of his neck as he drifted down into the tresses hanging down her back, breathing in his comforting scent. 

She was so lost in the haze left from the total relaxation created by his fingertips that she didn't realize he was done until he was carefully scooping water with his hand and pouring it on her hair to rinse it the suds away; of course, he was far too much a gentleman to use her dunking method of achieving the same. When he got to the front of her head, he whispered, “Close your eyes, love,” lest she get soap in them, but they had been shut for a long time. 

At some point, she was aware of her hair covering her face, but was too content with the comforting weight of his stump on her side, the feel of him breathing against her, all of it to care much. Not until the caress of his fingers met her cheek as he brushed it aside and tucked it behind her ear. She finally opened her eyes then, to see his—so much bluer in the haze of steam and the edge of lust—staring down at her, corners crinkled from a gentle smile. 

He pressed his stump into her side to guide her up to sitting, and then drew aside the hair covering the rest of her face. But then he paused, cupping her cheek, eyes darting back and forth like he was studying her. 

“What is it?” She liked to make fun of him for being a book nerd, and she knew she was his favorite tome, but there was a different question behind his eyes now. 

“Nothing, love,” he assured her, then reverted to what was quickly becoming one of his (and—she couldn't lie—her) favorite lines. “I just really, desperately need to kiss you.”

She knew how to answer that. Without wasting another second, her hands were on his neck and his was on her waist, and their mouths fused together like it had been ages since they last met (when the reality was they could hardly go an hour without the other). 

Killian shifted his weight forward, pinning her between him and the edge of the tub—between his firm heat and the cool of enameled metal—making a dizzying contrast to the warm water around her and the growing need between her thighs, which were almost unbearably pressed together by his outside them. She bent a knee to try to create some friction, but only really succeeded in pushing against his ass and bringing him even closer, chest to chest. 

But judging by the way his hips rotated into her—and the press of his cock against her abdomen when he did so—he needed it just as much as she did. Neither made any effort to do anything about it, though; they were too busy tasting the other, tongues dancing and his beard gently scratching her skin in time with the brush of his chest hair across her now-sensitive nipples. 

Again, he ground into her, but he must have gone too far or hard because one of his knees suddenly slid out from under him. She instinctively grabbed under his arms to catch him before he completely fell forward; he realized what was happening just in time to slam his forearms against the edge of the tub and his feet against the back. But then there was an ominous  _ glug-glug _ sound that accompanied the general thud of their flailing. 

She knew the answer, but she had to ask. “...Did you just kick out the drain plug?”

“I believe so.”

“Dammit.”

It was slow, but the lowering water level was apparent as increasingly cool air hit her skin. 

“Well, love, shall we take this elsewhere?” The way he was staring at her from under his thick lashes, water dripping off his fringe, offset the dropping temperature by raising the heat within. Slowly, she nodded her assent; she certainly couldn't voice it. 

He gave a devilish smirk and pushed himself up out of the tub; she couldn’t help but admire the cascade of water droplets over his biceps as he rose. Or ignore the bob of his erection once he was upright. And then may have licked her lips when he stepped out, watching the rivulets run down his perfect behind as he searched for a towel.

Forget not knowing how he was hers—how was he even real?

But she knew he’d definitely confirm he was in just a bit, and until then, she’d just muse on this perfect man who somehow saw fit to love her.

* * *

The towel rack on the other end of their not-that-large bathroom had never seemed so far away as it did now, and it didn’t help that so much of Killian’s blood was rushing away from his brain, making it harder for him to concentrate on the task at hand. Sure, they were just going to be undoing anything that the bath had done to wash the sweat away, but that didn’t make his need to get them dry (well, drier) any less urgent.

He was fully aware of Emma’s eyes on him as he dried off with one of the plush towels she had insisted they needed; he may have made a show of flexing his muscles while drying his back and saw her swallow when he bent to get his legs. And he didn’t miss her disappointed sigh when he carefully wrapped it around his waist.

He also couldn’t ignore her tiny, involuntary shiver as the water continued to drain from the tub; despite all the steam, the temperature in the bathroom was dropping and it would be entirely ungentlemanly to leave a woman cold. He pulled another towel off the rack and threw it over his shoulder before turning his attentions back to her (not that they’d really wandered).

Once he stood at the side of the tub, he held out his hand. No words needed to be said for her to take it and let him help her stand. Then he whipped open the towel and quickly set about drying her off; first her hair, then down her shoulders and back. He wrapped the ends around the front and took his time in making sure her chest was clean, palming her breasts—one and then the other—through the fabric. He pressed her to him, keeping the towel wrapped around her with his breastbone, and made sure her rear end was similarly dry, gripping her side once he was satisfied. Holding the towel to her skin, he made one quick pass down and up her legs, before fluffing it out again and wrapping it around her like a hooded cloak.

“How’s that?” he asked as she grabbed the edges of the towel and held it tight.

“Perfect,” she answered breathily; his ministrations had the desired reaction—but he knew they would.

“Might I be allowed to escort the lady elsewhere, then?”

“You may.”

He extended his hand again to help her out of the tub; she gripped it and stepped over the edge regally, but her eyes never strayed from his and he could see the desire in her heavy gaze.

Though, perhaps she should have looked where she was stepping, because once her second foot met the tile, it slipped away from her and she squeaked in surprise; he only managed to grab her around the middle at the last second and pull her tight to him.

He sighed, and she glanced up at him sheepishly, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“I believe I warned you what would happen with all that splashing.”

She just nodded, but then slid her hands from where they’d come to rest on his chest to up around his neck. Smiling cheekily, she added, “But I can’t complain when it’s brought us close.”

That much was true; he’d never tire of having her in his arms. “Then we better make sure it doesn’t happen again.” As he’d done so many times now, he hugged her close and lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around him as his hand securely held her ass through the towel.

Carefully, he stepped around the puddles toward the door as she pressed kisses to his neck—nearly tickling him, but not quite. 

Once they passed the threshold, the dry floor of the bedroom was covered in the fewest strides possible and he quickly lowered Emma to the bed. Her silly seductions had made their way to him, and he was determined to make that last as long as possible—forever, if they could, but tonight would be a good start. 

Dramatically, he pulled off his towel and tossed it across the room, then tugged hers away from where it had pooled around her hips, making her yelp when it slid out from under her. But still she looked up at him with an unmistakable hunger, one he was all too happy to take care of. 

“So, Swan, are we clean now?” He wondered aloud, stepping into the space between her legs and hovering over her lips. 

“Maybe,” she wryly observed, arching her pelvis slightly towards his as her hands found his shoulders. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered in her ear, making her shiver again—the good kind this time. “I fear we may have missed a spot or two.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“Let me show you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not necessarily a part 2, but a bit more bath-related smut—only in the shower this time! Inspired by Colin's dustiness in the What Still Remains trailer

Killian was dirty. Downright filthy, even. 

Not in  _ that _ way. Well, sometimes, but right now, it was the actual, dusty, covered-in-dirt way. A fine film of grit and sweat covered his entire upper body, making his normally tanned skin look even darker and getting caught in his chest hair. His fringe hung down over his forehead and his bright blue eyes sparkled even more against the dust on his skin. Even his pale legs were coated in dirt beneath the borrowed shorts that hung low on his hips. 

Who knew that helping her dad build a shed involved so much dirt and so little clothing?

It should have been gross. She should have found it absolutely disgusting and not agreed to touch him until he’d taken a good, long shower. But instead, she wanted nothing more than to follow him in. 

“Come on; let’s get you cleaned up,” she murmured, voice low, as she took him by the hand and led him upstairs. He quirked an eyebrow as he followed, a smirk forming on his lips, but the sag in his shoulders and stiff way he moved told her he was too worn out to protest. 

In the bathroom, she dropped his hand to start the shower and let the water heat up as he undid the buckle and straps of his brace. She had to stifle a giggle at the lighter patches of skin where the dirt hadn’t been able to get under the leather—which made her wonder if the same applied to the waistband of the shorts. 

He’d started to fiddle with the button but she grabbed his hand to stop him. “Let me.” She could feel the heat coming off his warm chest as she undid the fly—or was that just her own arousal? Did it matter? With his shorts hanging open, she tucked her thumbs under the waistband of his boxer briefs and slid both down, revealing the clean, pale skin of his hips and the last untouched bit of hair that trailed into thick thatch around his manhood. 

Steam was starting to fill the room, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that it was the shower alone making it and not the constant fire between them; the hooded gaze staring at her under those thick lashes made her seriously wonder if it was the latter. She had to turn away or they wouldn’t even make it into the water. 

As quick as she could, she stripped her clothes, too, and pulled back the curtain, releasing even more tendrils of steam. Then she grabbed a couple washcloths and his hand and pulled him in. 

The instant the hot water hit Killian’s shoulders, he practically melted, releasing an almost indecent sigh as he slumped forward and the rivulets began to run through his sweat-matted hair and down his face. Where the water ran, dirt started to slide off his skin, streaking down the muscles of his arms and chest—but that alone wasn’t enough to clean him. 

First, she grabbed the shampoo, pouring a bit in her palm and then going to work on his hair while his head still hung forward. She swore he was part dog with how much he enjoyed a good head scratch; he even leaned toward her a bit more as her fingers stroked his scalp, getting the grit out of his soft, dark locks. When she was done with that, she lifted his chin up, tilting his hair into the spray to rinse it, and then took what was left of the shampoo and rubbed it in his beard. It was dirty, too, after all. He smirked into her palm but let her finish, knowing just how much she loved the feel of the coarse hair against her hand.

Then, Emma grabbed his favorite body wash, drizzled it on a washcloth, and began to gently scrub his left shoulder. He finally opened his eyes when she started, and she could tell by the glance he threw at her hand that he was contemplating taking it from her. But her raised eyebrows—and probably the hungry look in her eyes—likely stopped him from any attempt. Good; he didn’t let her take care of him often enough. 

Not even half a minute later, his eyes were shut again and his head rolled to the side as he unraveled under her touch. She caressed the side of his neck, revealing that little constellation of freckles that had been hidden by grime; worked over his shoulder and the dip of his collarbone, where more than a little sweat had pooled; and squeezed his tense biceps and forearm as she washed his left arm, lifting it up and placing a tiny kiss on the stump once it was clean. A dreamy little smile took over his face at that. 

She washed the right side in much the same way, earning a sigh as she kneaded his over-strained arm muscles. Dirt lined his large hand, in his nails and the creases of his calloused fingers and palm, so she took extra care in wiping each digit clean. 

She was tempted to continue on his front, but she wanted to save the best for last. “Turn around,” she softly commanded, and he complied, shuffling around without opening his eyes. His freckled back was mostly clean by now, but there was still some dust in the indents above his rear. Starting at his neck, she dragged the cloth slowly down his spine, smiling as he straightened and arched under her touch. She did the same on the rest, pressing the tightness out of his muscles and watching as the water continued to run down them and then over the curve of his lovely ass. On her last drag, she kept going, cupping and squeezing a cheek and laughing as he jumped and yelped. 

“I hardly think my arse is  _ that _ dirty, Swan,” he attempted to protest over his shoulder.

“Hey! I’m the one cleaning and I’ll clean whatever needs it,” she asserted, and then added in a whisper, “and I know you like it.”

His chuckle was enough of an admission for her to move to the other cheek. Just because it wasn’t visibly dirty didn’t mean it didn’t need to be cleaned. And she just really loved the feel of it in her hand. 

She knelt and quickly washed his legs, brushing through the fine dusting of hair on his firm thighs and calves. Down here, she could see just how much dirt was washing off and found an odd sense of accomplishment in it. But the best was yet to come. 

As she stood, she tossed the now-filthy washcloth aside; she wouldn’t need it anymore. Lightly gripping his shoulders, she turned him back to facing her and pushed his bangs out from where they’d hung in his eyes, which twinkled in amusement. “Are you having fun?” he teased, setting his hand and wrist on her waist. 

“Yes. And I’m not done yet.” This time, the body wash went into her palm. She briefly lathered it in her hands, but she could just as easily be rubbing them together in glee. And then she laid her palms on his pecs, right in the thick of his chest hair, and began to press and knead, working the soap to his warm skin and caressing the muscles beneath. 

Killian closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure under her caress, a sound that never ceased to raise her own excitement. As she worked the foam in his generous thatch of fur, heat pooled in her belly that had nothing to do with the water temperature. Her hands traveled from his sternum out across his chest and under his arms, making him jump again when her fingers drew a circle around his nipples; she was nothing if not thorough, after all.

She traced down his sides, feeling the ripple of his ribs and abdominal muscles and lightly squeezing his hips, before moving back in and following the rest of his treasure trail. Her hands smoothed and lathered the fine hair as it went down, down, down, to where it circled his waiting cock. She definitely needed to make sure that was clean, so she gripped the semi-hard member and slowly pulled both hands down the length of it, drawing an almost desperate, guttural groan from Killian that made her squirm.

“Bloody…” he panted, not able to finish the phrase. Which was all the encouragement she needed to do it again, this time forcing him to throw a hand on the back wall behind her shoulder to brace himself.

His eyes flew open and bore into her, darkened with lust; she couldn’t help but swallow with desire. And then he was on her, left arm pulling her tight and kissing her fiercely as the water continued to cascade over both of them. His soapy chest hair was pressed against her breasts and the brush of it felt divine, almost as much as the way his tongue danced against hers and the feel of his erection pressed between them. Her hands found their way to his trim waist and held tight as his hand anchored in her hair, lightly massaging like she had done.

He shifted his weight forward a bit, shuffling them both toward the back wall of the shower until her shoulders hit the cool tile, making her shiver. His hand moved out of her hair, down her shoulder and around her side to palm her breast, making her gasp into his mouth as he tweaked the nipple in retort to her own move. Then he gripped down her side and brushed down her front until he found her sex; one swipe of the fingers she’d so carefully cleaned minutes ago had her nearly collapsing, but he had a tight hold on her and she knew he wouldn’t let her fall (not in the physical sense, at least). 

After a few more strokes that left her with her head thrown back, panting, and nearly seeing stars, he slid his palm along her thigh to lift her leg. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know to shift her grip to his shoulders, sliding one hand along his smooth, washed skin as she moved and the other once again finding his cock. And in a well-practiced motion, she lined him up to her entrance and he thrust in, filling her perfectly.

For a moment, she was overwhelmed at all the sensations going on both inside and outside; she couldn’t even begin to focus on any one. But then he was moving, sliding out a bit and then back in, picking up pace. The brush of his cock against her inner walls matched that of his chest against her breasts and his pelvis against her clit and she was suddenly much closer to the edge than she’d realized. For what it was worth, her free hand grasped for his side to anchor herself, but she wasn’t going to last long.

“Come for me, love,” he whispered into her ear, and then began placing gentle kisses on the soft skin below and down her neck. She may have been the one who directed this encounter to start with, but she’d let him have this one: she came with a shout, clutching onto him tight as rapture crested over her body. Some time later—it could have been hours, but was probably only seconds; she really had no idea—she felt Killian still his movements and the weight of his head falling against her shoulder as he too reached his peak. 

They stayed there for a bit, letting the shower run over them as they came down from their climax, holding each other tight until Killian finally took a deep breath and slipped out. He took a step back, but she squeezed her hands where she still held him to make him stop.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

She shifted her weight forward to stand and slid her hands down to his hips. “I’m still the one doing the cleaning here,” she insisted breathlessly, glancing down at his cock, which glistened with the evidence of their release.

The corner of his mouth ticked up in a sly way, and he grabbed the other washcloth from the shelf she’d left it on. Then he leaned in, and in a low, sultry voice, told her, “No, my love; it’s my turn to do the cleaning.”


End file.
